Sherbette's Sherbet
by ItsaRandomUsername
Summary: Meryll is on a quest to make something sweet and tasty for Swallow. A Red Dragon/Chaos Dragon fanfiction.


Disclaimer:  
 _Red Dragon is the intellectual property of its other respective rights holders. This story is written solely for the purpose of entertainment, and not for any sort of monetary profit. If anything, consider this free advertising._

* * *

 **Sherbette's Sherbet**

* * *

The pair of eyes that Meryll saw was her own. As always, the mirror that she hung in her quarters reflected back steely D'natian blue. She narrowed her eyes. The Meryll in the mirror did likewise. She breathed in deeply, and the polished glass displayed how her body rose and fell. The purse laden with coins hanging at her side gave a satisfied-sounding full jingle.

Upon deciding that there was nothing amiss, Meryll left. She closed the door behind her, taking care to lock it up even though there was hardly a point in doing so. She left the mansion's grounds in secret – Meryll took especial care to not inform her master of her departure.

For that day, Meryll went to war.

 **.**

 **\- ] | [ -**

 **.**

"500 gold for the cherries."

"500 gold?"

"Aye, sir."

"500 _gold_?"

"I said 'aye,' didn't I?"

"Now, look here. I'm aware that it's out of season. I recognize that importing them from Nil Kamui or wherever in the world that has the weather necessary for the trees to bear fruit is a delicate, expensive process. I understand the need for merchants to meet the profit margin, to stay in the good ol', cozy black. Don't you play me for a fool, now. I know my numbers. For costs like that I could acquire horses, man! Horses!

I am not highborn. These are not a luxurious courtesan. You are not her pimp, whoring her out. These are cherries. These are _fruits_. Do we both understand the reality of this situation?"

"Aye. That, we do."

"So, then, no more fun-making, and give me something I can work with."

"500 gold."

"500 gold?! How can you charge so much for-?! …Is this a front for something illegal?"

"Nnnnnnoooooooo…"

"Look, I don't care what sort of unsavory activities you're covering for – I just want some damn cherries, and you're the only one who's selling them!"

"…400 gold."

"You hardly brought that exorbitant price down at all, you dodgy hobknob packrat!"

Upon hearing the agonized death wail of yet another hapless weekend warrior Meryll gave a silent prayer to the soul that had succumbed to the harsh world of the D'natian street market.

Yes, the D'natian street market. It was the landscape that saw the rise of the few and the fall of so many, from spinsters, to housewives, to other members of the lower-class citizenry on errands, to fellow servants. This was the battlefield upon which Meryll's mettle was tested, in which her destiny – and the rest of her afternoon plans – was to be forged.

Ingredients wouldn't buy themselves.

 **.**

 **\- ] | [ -**

 **.**

So soon had the first obstacle shown itself. Quests were certainly not all paid vacations and paved roads, and the marketplace was as competitive any, the rapidity with which Meryll's mission was met with opposition was still impressive. Meryll took cold comfort in the fact that this place had not lost its bite.

Though Meryll went to war, it was more like a quest that she had embarked upon. Regardless of how it could be described, her experiences in the D'natian street market that day were nothing short of legendary, and as is so true for legends, it was rife with a cast of characters who had impeded or aided the handmaiden on her journey.

There was a country lad who probably spent as much time assaulting the cows as he did milking them. The real problem with him, the one pertinent to Meryll, was in not knowing sherbet from sorbet. Ignorance is hardly a crime, but–––

"Between you, me, and everyone in the realm, milk has no place in sherbet."

"Sorbet is the dessert with a pure fruit base," Meryll had replied, "The process of making sherbet, in contrast, is marked by the inclusion of dairy, which leads to a smoother consistency. You'll never find that creamy texture in sorbet."

"Hate to break it to you, ma'am, but them's the same thing. They're both regional words for the same sweet cold stuff."

–––Not only was he wrong, he was opinionated, and felt the need to foist it onto others. It was an almost fatal error on Meryll's part, telling him what she intended to use his wares for.

Even so, she would not let a hayseed like he have his way. Like many heroes of old, Meryll's wit was not in short supply.

So Meryll lied.

A maid's loyalty to her master surpassed all other obligations. He was not _him_. This man was just a mere rock on the side of the path that Meryll walked. All she cared about him was the milk he sold. So with a clear, clean conscience, Meryll lied her way out. On this battlefield, she would fight as dirty as it was required of her.

Long story short, she was able to take away twice as much milk as she needed, for half the price.

It was an ordeal in its own right, but the true challenge of a D'natian market day laid with the two-headed monster known as Supply and Demand. Take the intensity of a feeding frenzy and couple that with the speed of a packed auctioneer's house – the competitive greediness that would result from the sum of those parts would merely rival a good D'natian market day. That went double when the crowds drew, money changed hands, and the monster awoke.

If haggling was dueling, then Meryll had taken on a whole army, and the literal fruits of her labors were the trophies that she had left with. She strolled back to the estate with the poise of a victor, weary but satisfied.

Meryll spirited herself away to the kitchen to immediately begin work. She left her satchel on the counter for a moment to grab the bowls, knives, and other things she would need to turn the ingredients into a dish.

"Hey, Meryll, what's this?"

Unfortunately, that was all opportunity needed. The avatar of destruction had descended upon that very same kitchen.

With a curious look on his face, Swallow Cratsvalley proceeded to look through Meryll's groceries.

Meryll's eyes widened as she broke out into a cold sweat. There was nothing to be done now. Nothing to it but to let disaster run its course.

Who could say for sure what happened first? The jug of milk exploded in Swallow's hand, and the bag ripped open, fell apart into tiny scraps of cloth. That catalyzed the rest of the chaos that followed. Raspberries, peaches, apricots, and a single lemon tumbled to the floor. Bursting, bruising, being peppered with the shards and dust of glass upon impact. A stick of cinnamon, so hard won, and so pricey, splintered into chunks of dusty bark.

His curse was as absolute.

Meryll stood there, in stunned silence, quivering slightly. She wore a thousand-yard stare, and her gaze went from, first, the remains of the would-be sherbet, to Swallow. Just Swallow. He soon realized that he had done something wrong. Very wrong.

"Um," Swallow said, "Sorry Meryll. My curiosity got the better of me. I saw that you went shopping, so I wanted to see what you'd get for yourself."

"Me? You think this was for me?" Meryll asked, her visage stony and unchanged.

"You bought it, so…" Swallow trailed off apologetically as he deferentially shrugged his shoulders.

With an utterly disapproving expression, all Meryll had to say was "You're a piece of trash, Master Swallow."

 **.**

 **\- ] | [ -**

 **.**

"Hey, Meryll?" Sometime later Swallow asked, "Why did you slip under my door a compiled list of all the edible plants that can be found on the Cratsvalley estate's grounds?"

"It's so you don't starve tonight."

"Oho! You can eat dandelions? How amazing!" Swallow said as his face beamed with wonder. "You're so smart, Meryll!"

At that moment, Meryll felt as is some spackle had been plastered over the crack in her heart.

It wasn't much, but she'd take it.


End file.
